


Defy Definition (+ art)

by chamyl, hollow-head (laideur)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Art, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Digital Art, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Romance, Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/laideur/pseuds/hollow-head
Summary: Aziraphale welcomes him. He burns brighter and hotter, the confines of his celestial body trembling with laughter. He doesn’t have a proper mouth to speak with – doesn’t need one either, Crowley would know what he’s saying in any language.Hello, my love.🌟Aziraphale and Crowley meet in the woods far from any human settlement, where they can let their true forms take over.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 261
Collections: Get A Wiggle On Zine





	Defy Definition (+ art)

**Author's Note:**

> This is [hollow-head](https://hollow-head.tumblr.com/)'s and my contribution to the [Wiggle On Zine](https://wiggleonzine.tumblr.com/), which we are now free to share! Featuring one extra gorgeous piece of art, as a treat 💕  
> For this collab, we tried to capture a bit of a magical/fairytale/ghiblish (is that a word?) atmosphere, I think we did a pretty good job and I'm very happy with what we made 🎉🎉🎉
> 
> Betad by my friend [entanglednow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow) who turns into gold anything she touches. Or porn. Either way, we're happy with the results.

Since the dawn of time, humans have been telling stories.

Stories to explain why they exist, and how, and what will happen to them when their hearts stop beating and their flesh goes cold.

These stories have been passed down from person to person long before the written word was invented.

Stories make sense out of chaos. Stories make humans feel part of a narrative – give them purpose, give them a beginning and an end, give them hope. Stories ground them and help them make sense of things.

But there are things that defy definition. Things too great, too vast and terrifying for their minds to process, for their eyes to see, and for their stories to contain.

Humans have been trying to describe angels for millennia.

They’ve portrayed angels as wondrous figures with skin of beryl and eyes of fire. As rotating, flaming wheels, rims full of eyes. Or, more recently, as gorgeous beings shaped exactly like humans, sexless, with great pearly wings on their backs.

None of those descriptions are correct. No human will ever be able to capture in words the genuine nature of angels, Crowley is sure of it – because angels are, very simply, beyond human comprehension. They are, at the same time, far more powerful than a mortal could ever imagine, but also far less ethereal than one might think – and he would know a thing or two about that.

Crowley likes to think he’d be the only one able to describe angels accurately, what with having been in love with one for six thousand years and counting. Besides, he’s lived among humans for just as long, he’s quite sure he’s learned how to communicate with them efficiently by now. He has the insight to do it, the knowledge to do it, and the skill.

But he won’t. He doesn’t want to. He thinks humans will carry on just fine having fun with their little fantasies, and he’d like to keep this exclusive piece of knowledge to himself, close to his heart.

Because Crowley sees—Crowley has seen all of his angel, and has been hopelessly smitten with everything he is as long as he can remember. Even with the most disturbing parts of Aziraphale – maybe with those the most.

* * *

It's the dead of the night. The Bentley is parked by the side of a dirt road. There’s nobody around for miles and miles and the new moon tints the night pitch black.

A huge red-bellied black snake slithers through the damp grass of a field. He leaves no trace behind him. Every now and again, his tongue flickers out to taste the air, and he takes a turn.

He keeps going for a very long time until he reaches his target.

Deep in the woods, there is a bright glow filtering through the trees. It’s white and warm, and it would be painful for the human eye to gaze upon. The serpent is irresistibly drawn to it, his golden eyes shining with reflected light.

He covers the last stretch of ground between himself and the angel and hisses in pleasure as the air around him becomes warmer, thrums with energy that presses down hard against his scales, all the way down his damp body.

He twists around the last tree, slithers into the clearing where Aziraphale is waiting for him.

The angel and the snake look at each other for a long moment, holding perfectly still.

The serpent is a long, black shape against the grass – the angel a pulsing sphere of pure energy, calling to him, luring him in. Aziraphale should be a terrifying sight. Would be, to a human. But not to Crowley. Crowley can't wait to wrap himself around him, rub his scales against the brimming power of him – it will be unbearable and burn in the most delicious of ways, and he’ll enjoy every second of it.

The angel lowers himself to the ground and Crowley slinks closer, beginning his climb.

Aziraphale welcomes him. He burns brighter and hotter, the confines of his celestial body trembling with laughter. He doesn’t have a proper mouth to speak with – doesn’t need one either, Crowley would know what he’s saying in any language.

_Hello, my love._

_Aziraphale_ , he hisses, slowly encircling him, around and around until he’s reached the top and no part of his snake body touches the ground anymore.

The angel twinkles, delighted, and starts carrying him upward, into the open sky.

The wind is gentle on his scales. From so high up the trees are small, the stars are closer. Crowley continues his slow, deliberate movement around Aziraphale, relishing in the warmth, the softness of him, the unfettered, tremendous power simmering just below the surface.

Crowley feels himself slowly starting to slip out of his confines. There’s a faint glow to the smooth, black curves of his body now. Like the moon herself – he shines with reflected light as the very soul of him awakens on another plane, expanding beyond the edges of his physical body to reach for his angel.

Aziraphale welcomes him, keeps welcoming him over and over, their essences starting to mingle in a way that isn’t possible when they inhabit their human-like corporations. The angel opens— _something_ , some corner of his soul, bares the most vulnerable parts of himself, and Crowley plunges and is pulled in at the same time.

He’d never be able to describe it any other way – it feels like Falling in reverse. It feels like breaking through several layers of reality, glimpsing a parallel world, barely a blink of it before it’s lost again. It feels like being warmed to his core, accepted completely, fixed where he’s been broken – and filled with light where it’s been dark for too long.

In a word, it feels like healing.

Crowley gasps and holds tighter to his angel, pleasure radiating through every part of his body, from his forked tongue to the very end of his tail, and even to the wings he keeps tucked away in another dimension. There is no human word for the gentle mantra spilling from Aziraphale’s form – it’s a word in a language that doesn’t exist that means _yes_ , and _love_ , and _please stay here, stay close_.

Crowley pushes in, determined to ignore his own need until he’s seen to Aziraphale’s. He searches for the luminous points of power in him – rubs his scales against them, lets his own energy, corrupted and subdued as it is, flow out of him and into the angel. Aziraphale, completely surrounded by his coils, gives a shaky twitch of laughter that turns into a moan of ecstasy. He burns warmer, impossibly bright.

The demon closes his eyes. His tongue flicks out of his mouth, tasting the electricity in the air around them. His coils ripple with the force of it – the rising swell of Aziraphale’s pleasure, the friction of their natures intermingling – and he holds on tight, snout tucked at the very top of the angel, tail twitching helplessly where he ends.

He braces himself and continues. The spiral of his body tightens around his lover, the negative space of his demonic energy expands out, presses down, his black hole soul sucks the light off of the angel and into itself until he feels Aziraphale losing control of his form.

The angel starts spinning slowly in the air, an involuntary motion, and the confines of him become blurrier still, Crowley revels in the feeling of it – not sure anymore where he ends and where his angel begins.

Aziraphale squirms and jolts against him and Crowley almost loses himself, the mounting pressure almost overwhelmingly good, and it’s only his own determination that keeps him from tipping over.

 _I love you_ , he hisses, with every part of himself – the snake body wrapped around the angel; the reflection of him on another plane that has raven black wings and molten gold eyes; the entire damned soul of him that squirms in pleasure-pain at being pressed against the holy, burning core of Aziraphale.

The angel whimpers and trembles and all of a sudden he’s everywhere, however many sets of wings springing open wide as the woods below them are lit in whites and indigos. Crowley can’t hold back anymore – he lets himself go, his whole body tensing for a long moment as the pleasure thrums through him.

The trees rattle with the shock wave that results, the ground shakes – and then there’s silence and darkness again.

The angel and the snake float together high in the sky, wrapped around each other. Both losing their grip on their forms, slipping back into their human corporations – but, for an instant, they just hold each other, cheek against cheek, and Aziraphale’s halo glows bright.

* * *

Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s proffered hand and takes the last step out of the field. He shakes dew off the cuffs of his trousers and slips into the Bentley, smiling at the demon that's holding the car door open for him.

Crowley has that lovely look he always gets after a good tussle – the blushing tips of his ears, that vaguely dazed air about him. The way he won’t look at Aziraphale properly, just glance at him and then quickly avert his gaze.

The angel can’t help but grin even wider.

“Stop. You’re literally glowing,” Crowley mutters, one hand on the steering wheel and one on the gear stick.

Aziraphale feels his face flushing, but he reaches out anyway and touches the demon’s arm, moves to interlace their fingers before Crowley can start the car.

“That was a splendid idea you had. Thank you.” He brings Crowley’s hand to his mouth, lays a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “You know how I love our cottage, but it was wonderful to do something different for once.”

Crowley sniffs, the way he always does when he’s trying not to show how affected by the praise he is.

Aziraphale loves him so much his heart is full to bursting.

“Wasn’t bad,” Crowley admits, and Aziraphale lets go of his hand so the demon can turn the key. The Bentley roars to life underneath them. “Think you might want to do it again, in a couple of months?”

“Oh.” The angel tries to stop himself from glowing. He really does. “Absolutely, my dear. I would love that.”

But it’s all right, isn’t it? He just has to tone it down before they drive by the closest village. For now, it’s just the two of them, and he can shine as bright as he wants.


End file.
